Thanks to all who read and comment on these naughty (and sometimes depressing) anecdotes. This chapter is a response to the requests for fluffy sex: hope this satisfies!

A wink to my fanfic pal who is almost as obsessed with messing up Gilbert's curls as I am: you know who you are! I thought of you several times writing this.

Also, I'm following no particular chronological order for this chapter and the following ones in M land - if you're wondering, this particular one takes place a little before the previous chapter's ending.

Thank you, and enjoy!

At half past midnight, two tall figures in white haunted the forest. They drifted down the path, scaring the nocturnal woodland critters on their way: foxes scurried off under the protective bushes, and squirrels scampered to safety up the nearest trees. A lone doe looked up from her leafy snack and froze before leaping gracefully into the darkness. From their hiding places, the badgers and the owls watched as the ghostly apparitions glided gracefully along.

"Ow!" The rounder of the two stumbled.

"Careful!" The taller figure caught her before she could topple over. "I told you, you should have worn your own shoes."

"Mine hardly fit anymore. My feet are so swollen..."

"Or better yet - go barefoot, and I'll carry you."

"It's far too hot for that. Come, now, we're almost there!"

And indeed they were: in less than ten paces, they'd reached the grassy banks of the pond. Toads paused mid-croak to appreciate the sight of the taller specimen disrobing: rid of his loose-fitting summer nightshirt, there was nothing ghostly about a half-nude Gilbert Blythe.

His wife, however, remained a spectral sight in her billowy white gown: her skin shone almost blue under the moon light, and her recently bared feet made it seem as though she hardly touched the ground.

"You're not going in dressed, are you?" asked her husband.

"What does it matter?" she asked, sitting by the edge to test the water with her legs, and moaning in luxurious relief at its coolness - a most welcome contrast to the suffocating estival heat. "It's too dark to see anything, anyway."

"You'll be cold on the way home," he warned.

"And I'll have you to keep me warm." She eased herself down into the murky depths, one inch at a time. "Oh, it's blissful - stop pouting, darling: come and join me. The water is delightfully cool."

She heard his huff of impatience, followed by the faint rustling of his underclothes being shucked; but instead of lowering himself in slowly as she had, he launched himself from the edge headfirst. Anne admired his graceful dive, and watched as he reached the far end of the pond in precise, purposeful strokes.

She leaned her head back on the bank and sighed contently. Sitting at the edge, the water reached up to her shoulders. The soaked fabric of her white cotton nightgown clung to her bosom, hugging her at the ever-so-slightly-expanding waist, and floated loosely in the water around her half-bared legs, almost like a gauzy tutu: if she closed her eyes, she could imagine herself a Parisian ballerina leaping weightlessly across the stage, her leg poised at an impossibly beautiful angle...

"Foot cramp?"

She jolted from her reverie to find her her husband's twin hazels peering at her. Apparently tired of swimming laps, he'd come to a halt in front of her; Anne took advantage of the fact, gladly exchanging her girlish fantasy for the much more adult one, treading the water before her with his bare arms.

"I'm fine," she said absently, admiring the illuminated side of his water-beaded neck. More clear pearls of liquid adorned his lips and lashes: his brown locks, a bit straighter and a lot darker when soaked, flopped endearingly over his brow.

"I'll say," he smirked. "But seriously - feeling better, now?"

"Very much so," she smiled back. "So much, in fact, that I think I'd like to sleep here tonight."

"What, and exchange your cherry tree for slimy seaweed?"

Anne hid her amusement under feigned contempt. "That was clearly meant to be a springtime dream," she explained. "Look at the leaves in the trees: do you see a cool April breeze to lull me to sleep?"

"Er..."

"No! Not so much as a twitch! Summertime is no time for sleeping in trees, or wilting away on one's overheated mattress on an airless night: it's for refreshing sources and flowing streams, and I am going to sit here and enjoy the cool until I'm well and ready to leave!"

"Alright, alright!" Gilbert raised his palms defensively, desperately fighting to keep the grin from his face. When she tilted her face in petulant victory, he couldn't help but lean in and kiss the tip of her proud nose.

"Let your hair down," he whispered his request. "Get it wet."

"Oh, alright," Anne conceded easily and unbraided her: depositing the ribbons safely on the grass behind her, she took a deep breath and dunked herself all the way underwater.

Since that day by the bridge, they'd paid homage to the unfortunate Lily Maid by reenacting her rescue (though the endings were usually reinterpreted to better suit a not-so-helpless Elaine, and a less-than-virtuous Lancelot). They'd revisited the creek on several occasions, filled up their own tub at home when the weather didn't allow for an outdoors dip - even made creative use of the Blythes' Farm horse trough. A hundred kisses hadn't mollified Anne after that particular adventure had been sprung on her, but Gilbert had found a way to apologize which had left her moaning and begging for more.

Truth be told, he was getting ready to do some moaning and begging of his own. Anne emerged, her orange flames extinguished to liquid auburn.

"Beautiful." He said it not as a compliment, but rather like a prayer, with awed reverence. She swiped the water from her eyes and blinked: the translucent cotton of her bodice revealed piercing nipples just above the surface, making him growl and throw himself at her.

"Gil!" she exclaimed gleefully, but her giggles died out when his mouth latched on her neck, giving place to a soulful "oh...oh, Gil..."

"Anne," he breathed the water from her lips.

Her greenish-grey eyes shone innocently in the night. "Yes, Gil?"

"Wait right here."

"Where would I go-oooooh-oh...OH!" was all she could manage: he'd ducked beneath the surface, pushed apart her thighs and had wasted no time in finding the slit in her drawers. Underwater, in the dark, it didn't matter - he would locate her core in a heartbeat, and work relentlessly towards her release.

It didn't take much these days: the changes her body was undergoing left her more sensitive than usual, and Anne bit her lip, swallowing back the loud screams which threatened to escape her mouth. Gilbert had felt her seize against his tongue, and came back to the surface to catch his breath, panting as loudly as she was.

"Darling." Anne lovingly slicked his wet hair back from his face. "Shall I return the favor?"

"Would you?"

"I most certainly would."

"My sweet... Stay right where you are."

"I wasn't planning on leaving," she pointed out with an amused quirk of her lips.

"Smart aleck," he grunted as he hoisted himself up on the bank. No sooner had he turned himself around to sit on the edge, that her mouth was on him, enveloping his stiffness. Her fists gripped the grass on either sides of his thighs as she sucked fast and hard, then slowed down, releasing him to lick his length, and taking him in as deep as she could again.

"Anne," she felt his hands tug at her sodden, silken locks. "I'm not going to last if you keep going..."

"Then don't last," she whispered at his tip, licking the contour of its ridge in a way she knew would drive him wild. His sack tightened, and a powerful tremor worked up from his toes to his stomach, making his legs wobble like jelly.

"Can I be inside you?" he pleaded.

Anne smiled. "You may if you get back in here, because I'm not climbing out."

She hadn't finished her sentence before Gilbert had plunged back in the pond, ungallantly splashing her. Despite his urge to drive himself into her like a hare during mating season, he took the time to clear the water from her eyes, as well as his own. "Alright?"

"Alright," she consented, and he inserted himself slower than his patience would allow. He couldn't breathe, wouldn't breathe; his eyes fixed on her face, searching for the discomfort that never came. She was so tight, he could feel her every inhale and exhale, even the batting of her lashes...

As if the fit wasn't tight enough, she squeezed her inner muscles around him, making his eyes roll to the back of his head. Anne held on to his shoulders and moved herself up and down with a weightlessness they could only dream of recreating on land. Gilbert endured the slow torture for as long as he was able, channeling the signature Blythe patience until he could wait no longer: his hips took over, bucking into action. His fists threatened to rip the sod from the surface to which he clung as he pounded into her center, angling his thrusts so that he wouldn't bump her stomach (though she'd insisted it didn't hurt: he still wouldn't take the chance to upset her or the life form growing inside her).

Her gasps turned into garbled cries, each more wanton and desperate than the last, as he brought them closer to the precipice, faster, and harder, and faster yet, until they shouted out in unison. So mind blowing was the climax, it left her incapable of breathing: only when a cold shot entered her head through her nose did Anne realize she was submerged, and inhaling pond water.

A sputtering Gilbert pulled her back to the surface with a strong arm. "I forgot myself there, for a moment," he apologized sheepishly between coughs. "Are you alright, love?"

"Fine," she wheezed, shaking the water from her eyes and trying to clear her sinuses. "I'm fine," she assured him when he began to apologize again. "Honestly, I would be more upset if you hadn't forgotten yourself."

"You can't blame me being careful," he said, raking his finger through his drenched hair. The look Anne sent him then almost had Gilbert pouncing on her all over again.

"You don't need to be careful!" she argued with a smile. "You told me yourself - babies are resilient."

"It's not her I'm worried about." His eyes went incredibly tender.

"You mean him," Anne corrected gently, bringing her mouth tantalizingly close to his. "And I'm fine. I don't want you to worry anymore - you shouldn't have to worry, darling."

"I'm not worried," Gilbert brushed her lips with his. "Doesn't mean I can't be careful, though."

"Oh, you stubborn man!" Anne kissed her hardheaded, softhearted husband and pushed herself back towards the edge. "Let's not argue - just bring me home."

"I thought you wanted to spend the night," Gilbert teased, pulling himself up onto the bank.

"I said I wanted to stay until I was cool, which I am. Now, be a gentleman, and help your pregnant wife out?"

Two careful doctor's hands clamped around her upper arms, and heaved her soaked form onto dry land: he waited for her to gain her balance and start wringing out her gown, before slipping into his nightshirt. "Hold these," he instructed, handing Anne the shoes she'd borrowed, and sweeping her up in his arms.

"Gil-"

"Hush," he interrupted her protests. "Let me be the hero, this time."

She rested her head on his shoulders, burying her grin in the crook of his neck: and the valiant Lancelot carried his dripping Elaine back to their brand new castle, where their two little princes slept through the hot night.